


Hold me in your memory (never let me go)

by itotoro



Series: Fics my beta likes [1]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: BE WARNED OF ACCIDENT TRAUMA, F/F, Other, Thriller/Mystery, fake scifi, hurt comfort but there's a lot of hurt, my cat loves comments, trauma amnesia, trust me i love dubchaeng
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27003664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itotoro/pseuds/itotoro
Summary: Chaeyoung loses her memory in an accident.Shut away in a specialized facility, she is isolated to prevent a relapse that can lock away her memory for good.But there is a stranger in her dreams who she swears is important.
Relationships: Kim Dahyun/Son Chaeyoung
Series: Fics my beta likes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045772
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52
Collections: You Are My Dream





	Hold me in your memory (never let me go)

**Author's Note:**

> Fueled by my sleep-addled brain at 1AM and the dream prompt.
> 
> Written for #TFG_Vol2: You Are My Dream

[]

Chaeyoung's first conscious sensation is breathlessness. Her lungs squeeze, bursting with pressure.

She sits up with a jolt, heaves in air until her breath settles into a steady rhythm.

Chaeyoung is on a table in a dark room. Machinery whirs behind the walls and beneath the floor, echoing a dull throb at the base of Chaeyoung's skull. Small LEDs flicker on a computer panel to the left of the table, and the dull green glow of a ceiling-high monitor illuminates a figure in a Hazmat suit. 

The Hazmat suit is all white, if Chaeyoung can trust her sight. Then the Hazmat suit turns to the table, and Chaeyoung is greeted by the doodle of a smiley face where the mask should be.

 _You're awake!_ The voice is animated yet artificial, and the exaggerated body language of surprise is endearing. Why is it endearing?

Chaeyoung rests her palms on the table beneath her. "Who are you?"

 _Oh,_ says the Hazmat suit, _I'm Dove._

Chaeyoung pushes herself off the table, legs unsteady as she finds her balance. Dove makes a startled noise and rushes to her, holding her arms to support her. It reassures her.

 _You're not supposed to stand up yet,_ says Dove. _In fact, you're not supposed to be awake yet! But you always surprise me._

Chaeyoung steadies herself against the cold edge of the metal table. There is something she needs to remember, but it escapes her, lost in the depths of her memory. Or lack thereof.

There is enough to piece together an outline of herself, but nothing else.

"I can't remember anything," says Chaeyoung, "what's going on?"

The drawn smiley face of Dove looks at her with fixed humor, but the shoulders stoop. _I'm working on that._ Dove pats on the table. _Lie down, I'll load up your memory._

Chaeyoung pulls herself up on the table, Dove's hand on her back as she lies down. There is something whirring beneath the table, and it lulls her to relaxation. Her eyes close in seconds.

()

_booting … 20%_

_Son Chaeyoung. Twenty-three years old._

Memories piece together in Chaeyoung's mind. The year is 2029 in the month of June, two months after her twenty-third birthday. She remembers her mother, her father, her childhood.

_32%_

Chaeyoung tries to remember something.

_30%_

Chaeyoung remembers her schooling. Her passion for the arts. It led her to applying for a college in the heart of the city.

_58%_

Chaeyoung tries to remember something again. It flashes red in her mind.

_52%_

She remembers water.

_48%_

She remembers some friends. Not all of them. Her job as an interior designer.

_53%… mental limit reached… commencing consciousness protocol_

[]

Chaeyoung wakes up to white. It is the same room, the same whirring of machinery and sensation of the metal table beneath her palms. The room is empty save for the computer beside her, its panels no longer flickering with lights. The monitor is shut off.

Her reflection on the monitor is more gaunt than she remembers. Dark roots peek beneath her bleach-blonde hair. She wears a hospital robe.

Her memory is there, more fleshed out, still in fragments but now she can pull them together for some semblance of wholeness. There is a sensation of heaviness inside her head.

A panel in the wall in front of her slides open with a hiss. Dove walks in, the smiley face of the suit a stark contrast to the whiteness of everything else. The door hisses closed.

 _How are you?_ Dove's voice is chirpy for something robotic. _Does your head hurt or anything?_

"I'm good, thanks." Chaeyoung tries to slide off the table, but her body feels like lead. She winces at the throbbing in her head. "Am I supposed to feel like shit?"

Dove chuckles the way a computer might. It feels warm in Chaeyoung's cheeks. _You always say that._ Dove is gentle in holding Chaeyoung's legs, helping her touch them to the cool metal floor. They are the same height, if Chaeyoung fixes her posture.

Dove's smiley face is idiotic but oddly comforting. _Let's get you to your room._ An arm wraps around Chaeyoung's waist, the other pulls Chaeyoung's arm over Hazmat suit shoulders. _Let me help you._

A panel in the wall opens with a hiss, and Dove leads Chaeyoung out into a long, white corridor.

There's a familiar silence as they walk. Chaeyoung's footsteps echo on the hollow metal flooring, loud compared to Dove's quiet steps. 

Dove speaks first. _Your room is just a five minute walk from here, but it's easy to get lost. For obvious reasons._

Chaeyoung lets Dove carry more of her weight as they walk beside each other. "Have I done this before? Walked this corridor with you?"

 _Enough times. Too many times._ Dove is talkative. _As you probably have guessed, I'm trying to fix your memory._

Dove answers questions before Chaeyoung can ask them. _You were in an accident that triggered severe memory loss in a nontypical fashion. Hence we are at a private wing of the Memory Research Institute of Seoul, and I am your primary Ward. White prevents any unnecessary triggers from happening, but we also change color if White is involved in the memory loss. No, there's nobody else here. Yes, we serve breakfast at 7, lunch at noon, and dinner at 7, with occasional snacks in between. No, they're not white. Though I've chosen them to guide your memory recovery process. Yes, you have nonwhite clothes and your room isn't all in white._

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?" asks Chaeyoung. 

Dove chuckles. _You have, too many times._

_[]_

Dinner is served at 7PM. That gives Chaeyoung half an hour to get acquainted with her room. 

It's bigger than she expects, around 40 square meters with a bed, desk, and a good-sized restroom. The beige walls calm her, the window at the end of the room pleasant with a view of an indoor garden. There is an accent couch and a painting of a lush forest on the wall opposite her bed. The floor is carpeted, warming her toes.

It's as if she designed the room for a hotel. Perhaps she had.

The cabinet by the doorway opens to a rack of hangers and drawers, with a suitable mix of cardigans, skirts, and blouses. Chaeyoung's clothes. They smell freshly washed. Even the underwear is hers, with one of the bras having a tear by the seam exactly how she remembers it.

There's a folded paper tucked in the hem of the bra strap. Her handwriting.

"So you failed again, future Chaeyoung. Place this back in the bra and fold it, don't use it so it doesn't get washed. Turn the paper."

Something sinks in Chaeyoung's gut. It chills in its familiarity. She turns the paper around, reading the back.

"May 28. Remember everything. Don't tell Dove."

There is something special about that date. It makes Chaeyoung's head throb. She follows the paper, folding it and tucking it back inside the bra. She places it back inside the drawer.

Even after spending time on choosing an outfit, there is a good fifteen minutes before dinner arrives. Each tick of the alarm clock on her desk is taxing. 

Chaeyoung waits on the edge of the bed. The paper, her handwriting sits at the back of her mind. What was special about it? What did it mean? There was something wrong with the dissonance, too much that Chaeyoung had yet to remember.

The door swings open with a hiss, derailing her thoughts. 

_Dinnertime!_ Dove hops a little while walking inside the room. Gloved hands hold a tray with a plate of waffles and sausages, a glass and a pitcher of water. _Do you like your room?_

Chaeyoung swallows thickly. "Yeah, it's like I made it myself."

Dove sets the tray of food on top of the desk. _You should stop that train of thought before it triggers your memory prematurely._

 _We don't have eggs by the way, which is funny because they're one of the whitest foods out there. We don't have to-fuck wait, I almost slipped there._ Dove shakes the smiley-face head vigorously, then turns to face Chaeyoung. _Wouldn't want to trigger your memory prematurely._

Chaeyoung shifts in her seat. "When's my next," she pauses, trying to grasp at the words, "my next memory trigger session?"

Dove tilts the smiley-face head. _It's called a memory reloading session actually, but there's one tomorrow morning after breakfast. Your memory has been loaded at 53% but it's still too low for the second phase, which is trauma rework. It sounds scary but it's really just unlocking parts of your brain at discrete levels so that we don't shock your brain into trauma again._

Chaeyoung's eyebrows furrow, the base of her head throbbing dully. "Fuck, now that makes my head hurt."

Dove's hands wave frantically. _Oh man, I'm sorry! You usually ask these questions a few hours after phase 1 consciousness, but your mental levels are probably fatigued from the repeated procedures-_

Chaeyoung interrupts. "How many times have I been here before?"

Dove pauses, the smiley face of the Hazmat Suit expressionless. _As a patient? Four times. This is your fifth cycle._ Gloved hands clasp together. _And, if you respond to treatment well, your last._

A silence lingers in the air, heavy and tense. There is something in the wringing of gloved hands that makes Chaeyoung's head throb.

 _I'll see you tomorrow._ Dove's shoulders hunch as she walks through the automated door. It hisses as it shuts behind the Ward.

_()_

Chaeyoung's dream is in a cafeteria. She's in high school again, her dark hair tied low, dark blue uniform familiar in its coarseness against her skin. She sits at a table with two of her upperclassmen friends.

The cafeteria is abuzz with chatter. Fellow students walk around with trays of dishes, looking for tables to eat lunch in. In front of her Nayeon and Jeongyeon are quarreling about which cafeteria dish is superior. Chaeyoung tunes them out, eyes fixed on her notebook. There are some doodles on the edges, hearts and a smiley face inside a square. It looks like a piece of tofu.

Chaeyoung closes the notebook with a slam as an unfamiliar woman slides beside her on the cafeteria bench. "Lunchtime!" she exclaims as she plops a bento box on the table. Her skin is milky white, her cheeks a little chubby but dark hair beautiful as it falls over her shoulders. "Man, I'm famished."

Chaeyoung doesn't know her, but she does. She does. Something stirs in her chest.

"Who are you?" she asks.

The woman turns to her. Her eyes sparkle with mirth, her smile curled in mischief. "Me? I'm the love of your life."

[]

Chaeyoung wakes up with a hand outstretched towards the ceiling, grasping for something she can't quite recall. Her clock shows the time of 5:28 AM.

There's a warm dawn light coming from the window.

Chaeyoung sits up. There is a giant tree at the center of the indoor garden, surrounded by plots of flowers and other sweet-smelling plants. The lavender light of the morning falls around it, and even with the window shut Chaeyoung could imagine the soft dew of the grass on her feet.

She leaves the bed. The window has a latch on the side that opens with a quick fiddle, and it swings open with ease. Chaeyoung clambers onto the window ledge, hopping to the other side. The grass is soft and cool on her feet, the air lush with freshness.

The tree is at least two stories tall. Above it is a glass dome through which natural light enters. Its frame is metal in the shape of an aster flower. Her design.

A startled, robotic squeal pulls Chaeyoung from her thoughts. On her right, sitting on a garden bench by a bush, is Dove. The morning light falls on the white Hazmat suit, softening its edges.

 _You're awake early._ Dove fidgets with gloved hands, bouncing the balls of booted feet. _I've prepared for this eventuality, as you can see, but you still surprised me._ Dove scoots over to one side of the garden bench, tapping the space. _Come, sit._

The woman in the dream lingers in Chaeyoung's mind, questions rising to the surface of her thoughts. "How much of my memory am I still missing?"

Dove taps on the bench repetitively. _Sit beside me first. I'll answer all your questions._

The grass is cool as Chaeyoung makes her way to Dove, the garden bench creaking as she sits down on it. She pushes herself up into the bench, letting her feet dangle. "There, sitting."

Dove's smiley face seems to gaze at her in the morning glow. _Good, good. Now, to answer your questions._

Dove mimics Chaeyoung's posture, resting weight on gloved hands and swinging legs with enough force to catch momentum. _I said this yesterday at dinnertime, but your memory has been loaded up to 53%-_

"Where's the rest of my memory?" asks Chaeyoung.

 _It's all in your mind,_ Dove continues with a singsong, artificial voice, _just locked away. If all goes well, we'll be able to load up to 70% in the session later. Then we can proceed to trauma rework in the afternoon before loading the remain-_

"Why not load it all up?" asks Chaeyoung. She fiddles with her thumbs, jaw clenched. "It's driving me up the wall knowing how much I'm missing-"

 _Because that will break your brain._ Dove's robotic voice turns sharp. _Your accident overloaded your brain and hurting it even more is exactly what I'm trying to avoid._ A soft mechanical sigh is accompanied by the rise and fall of Hazmat suit shoulders. _You keep making this request. I shouldn't be upset about it. Next you're going to insist on getting the procedure done already-_

"Okay." Chaeyoung interrupts again, but less insistent. There's something in Dove's hunch that pulls at her gut, evoking a sensation she hadn't expected to feel for a Hazmat suit and a drawn-on smiley face. Sympathy? "I'll stop asking questions."

 _You don't have to stop,_ mumbles Dove. _I know you have a lot of questions._

"I do," says Chaeyoung, "but this isn't the first time I hounded you about them, that's for sure." Her eyes follow the tangled roots of the big tree, glancing upwards at the twisting bark of the trunk before getting lost in the canopy. Her gaze rises to the aster frame of the glass dome. "And I'm sure this isn't the first time I wondered about the person who made this garden."

Dove does not respond, but Chaeyoung senses tension in the silence. She rambles instead to fill the gaps. "The aster, I know it's my favorite flower. I love grass, trees, spacious rooms with carpeted flooring. As if it was made with me in mind. I don't have all my memory yet, but I know I'm part of all of this."

Dove is quiet.

"Was there a conversation where you told me the answer?" The sunlight is less lavender and more bright, the green of the garden growing steadily in vibrance. The Hazmat suit is stark white against the garden bench, the walls.

 _Yes._ Dove responds, voice crackling with static. _And it was a mistake._

Chaeyoung let the questions die in her mouth.

 _As your Ward_ , says Dove, _it's my duty to ensure your recovery from trauma. I know it's unsettling for you to be missing chunks of your life and isolated from everyone you know, but you need to trust me._

_I want you to recover._

The sunlight is warm on skin. 

"Okay," says Chaeyoung, "I'll trust you."

A gloved hand stretches in front of her, a palm up. _Can you,_ says Dove, _can you give me a high five?_

Chaeyoung's eyebrows furrow.

 _Nevermind._ Dove begins to pull away but Chaeyoung takes the gloved hand in her own. It’s smaller than she expects it to be.

They stay long enough in the indoor garden for gold sunlight to chase away the dawn.

Dove lets go. Stands up from the garden bench. _I have to prepare breakfast._ Dove takes padded footsteps towards a panel in the wall that hisses, slides open, then shuts.

Chaeyoung doesn't know why, but she feels like crying. 

[]

Chaeyoung's breakfast of oatmeal and strawberries sit heavy in her stomach as she walks along the white corridor. Dove is beside her, narrating the inner workings of the upcoming procedure.

 _Memory loss from trauma is the way your body protects itself from pain._ Dove's voice is as jovial as a robot voice can get. _The memories aren't lost in the strictest sense of the word, just hidden away so your consciousness can't reach them, and can't be hurt by them._

_There are triggers, of course, that bring the memory back to the surface of your consciousness._ Dove stops at a blank space of wall that comes to life with a hiss. _Which works for some patients, but for others it causes immense mental pain. That's why trauma rework was developed._

The wall opens into the white room from yesterday, the whirring of machinery filling the air. They walk inside, the computer already glowing green with activity.

"Is that what happened to me?" asks Chaeyoung. "Trauma so bad my brain can't handle it?"

 _Your case is delicate,_ says Dove, _because your mind keeps trying to undo the trauma rework. As if it wants to remember what happened. Then you crumple and go catatonic with panic, reliving the accident._ Dove pauses, staring at the floor for a moment before looking at Chaeyoung. _It's a deeply personal accident that tangles with a lot of your previous memories._

Chaeyoung finds herself thinking of the woman in her dream.

They walk to the table. _Come, lie down here._ Dove taps the table with a gloved hand. _Let's load up some memories._

Chaeyoung hoists herself up the table, the chill of the metal seeping into her palms and then through her hair as she lays down.

_Ready?_

"Yeah." Chaeyoung listens to the whirring of machinery from beneath the table, finds herself drawn into it. She closes her eyes.

()

_booting … 58%_

_Son Chaeyoung. Twenty-three years old._

Memories piece together in Chaeyoung's mind. The year is 2029 in the month of June, two months after her twenty-third birthday. She works as an interior designer for major hotels and hospitals in Seoul, and had just received a contract for a museum in Bali, Indonesia.

_66%_

There is a drawing of a piece of tofu in a notebook. A woman.

_62%_

She was going on a trip there with friends from high school. Nayeon, Jeongyeon. Some others.

_68%_

Chaeyoung tries to remember someone.

_67%_

She remembers a bridge.

_66%_

She remembers water.

_64%… mental limit reached… commencing consciousness protocol_

[]

Chaeyoung sits up from the table. 

The smiley face of Dove's Hazmat suit greets her from beside the computer panel. _Awake in a jiffy, as always._ A sharp noise comes from the clapping of gloved hands.

Chaeyoung rubs her eyes. It feels like something was pried off the base of her skull. "Will I always feel like shit after remembering things?"

 _You always say that,_ says Dove, _so yes._

"You always say that," says Chaeyoung, "of course I'm repeating things from past conversations I haven't had."

 _That's a first though, your outburst._ Dove comes forward, helps Chaeyoung climb off the table. _Might be the fatigue changing your responses to conversations._

"Same with you, then?" Chaeyoung wraps her arm around Dove's shoulder, leaning for support. From up close the Hazmat suit smells like laundry. "You also sound tired."

The smiley face turns to her, then turns away. An arm wraps around Chaeyoung's waist, supports her. _Your case is delicate and complicated. It is taking a lot of effort to help you recover._

"And nobody's helping you?" Chaeyoung asks.

 _I'm the best fit for this job_ . Dove begins to walk Chaeyoung across the room, the panel on the wall sliding open as they near it. _But we'd have to wait until tomorrow before we can do the trauma rework._

They enter the hallway, taking a right turn in the direction of Chaeyoung's room. There's a soft hum coming from the floor, beneath the hollow metal. "Why not today?"

 _There were some complications._ Dove's grip on Chaeyoung's waist tightens, pulling her closer. _Lean on me some more. Have you been having dreams?_

Chaeyoung obliges, pulling on Dove's shoulder. Her knees buckle with every step she takes. "Dreams?"

 _Of anything unusual, or unfamiliar._ Dove stops them at a space in the wall, the panel swinging open into Chaeyoung's room. _Figments of imagination that try to fill the gaps between lost memories._

Something gnaws at Chaeyoung's gut. "It's hard to tell what's a dream and what's a memory. Is that bad?"

They enter the room, Chaeyoung lifting herself off of Dove. _Just some routine cleaning to do during the memory loading. We don't want to leave you with false memories that are dreams in disguise._

Dove's smiley face is impassive. There is something strange about it now, as if Chaeyoung should be able to recognize it.

"That smiley face," says Chaeyoung, "who put it there?"

 _Oh, this?_ Dove points to the smiley face of the suit. _Was it in your dreams? I saw it in your memories, actually. That's what I was talking about. False memories that are dreams in disguise._ Dove moves closer, suddenly stiff. _You must tell me if you are having dreams._

Chaeyoung steps back, fists clenched. There's a lump in her throat that tells her something is wrong.

 _Sorry._ Dove steps back, wringing gloved hands. _It's just - the dreams have been setting you back each time. Your mental endurance is wearing thin and another failure might result in permanent damage._

"Okay." Chaeyoung's voice is harsher than she expects it to be. "I'll tell you if it happens." She breathes in, unclenches her fists. "I'm tired."

Dove's face angles down, away, shoulders hunched. _I'll take my leave now, see you at lunchtime-_

"I'm not hungry, either." Chaeyoung sets her jaw. "Just give me food at dinner."

 _Dinnertime, then._ Dove takes a step back before turning, walking through the door. _Rest well._

It swings shut with a hiss.

Chaeyoung's head pounds, thoughts swirling. She needs a shower.

[]

The water is warm, almost hot as it falls over her. 

Water. 

Her memories are still fragmented and difficult to grasp, but Chaeyoung is sure that she has been to the beach before. Why, though, can't she remember the texture of sand on her feet, the sound of waves crashing on the seashore?

Chaeyoung encounters it, a clear block in her mind. It's curious how her thoughts bounce away from the blockage as she tries to remember, instead going into facts from textbooks, online videos, airplane brochures. 

Dove had said that forcing the blockage to open will hurt more than it helps.

Chaeyoung's gut is telling her to try.

She shuts the shower off, grabs the towel from the rack. It's exactly where she would place a towel rack if she designed a shower, far enough from the area to stay dry but near enough to reach.

It is more eerie than astounding. She dries herself off, wraps the towel around her body before stepping out of the restroom.

There is a paper tucked in the hem of her favorite bra, the one with a tear in the seam. Her handwriting.

"So you failed again, future Chaeyoung."

Chaeyoung doesn't need to read the rest of the paper to know what's on it. May 28. She folds the paper back and slips it into the hem of the bra, placing it in the back of the drawer. 

There's something in her dreams that she needs to remember.

"Don't tell Dove."

()

Chaeyoung dreams for the afternoon.

She is in a rustic cafe, the daytime light filtering through wide windows with wooden frames. It's a small chalet of around 100 square meters inspired by Alpine architecture.

There is an unfamiliar woman across her seat, with porcelain white skin and long, bleach-blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Her wire-rimmed glasses are gentle on the delicate bridge of her nose, soft lips in a wide smile.

She is pointing to a map on the table. "Here, Chaengie, what do you think?"

Chaeyoung leans forward, the shoulders of her thick cardigan tight as she rests on her arms. She reads the text.

"It's a resort near the cliffside of Uluwatu temple, around a thirty-minute walk from the museum lot." The woman's voice is matter-of-fact, with a softness in the consonants. She pushes her glasses closer to her face. "The rates are the lowest in the vicinity and there's a free sunset tour in the area. Nayeon-eonni said that a friend-of-a-friend recommends-"

"Did you get a vacation leave from the lab, though?" Chaeyoung finds herself whining. "They're running you ragged again."

There's a sweet girlishness in the woman's chuckle. "You know I'd come with you if I could. But Jeongyeon-eonni and Nayeon-eonni are available!"

"It's just a week." Chaeyoung's hand finds the hand of the woman, relishing its warmth. "Please. For me."

She knows her. She does. But the block in her mind is heavy and painful to lift.

The woman looks her in the eyes, earnest. "You need to remember me, Chaengie. For the both of us."

"You're important to me," says Chaeyoung, "I know that."

"Don't let Dove know that I'm here." The woman begins to pull her hand away. "But you need to wake up soon, this is our last chance-"

"I need your name." Chaeyoung tightens her grip on the woman's hand. "Please." This woman is important, Chaeyoung's heart is beating with desperation.

"Go to the garden," says the woman, "you hid me there."

[]

Chaeyoung wakes up an hour before dinner, a hand outstretched to the ceiling.

She leaves bed and heads to the window. The afternoon has become evening, the last red rays of the sun fading into deep indigo. She unlatches the window, pushing it open.

There seems to be nobody around. Chaeyoung hoists herself over the window sill, ignoring the complaints of her ankles when she lands on the other side.

This garden was of her design. The aster flower is her trademark brand, present in her every project in one way or another. But why does she not remember this place? The aster flower is so big, so blatant. This was clearly important to her. Chaeyoung cards a hand through her hair in frustration.

One mystery at a time. For now, if she were to hide something in this garden, where would it be? She ignores the coolness of the grass as she searches the garden, careful for any sounds of hissing doors or any sights of white Hazmat suits.

Flower bushes are regularly pruned, grass trimmed every week. There was no way Chaeyoung would damage a tree for the sake of an ingenious hiding spot. Neither would she hide anything in branches that are always out of reach. She scans low, sees the garden bench, and instantly knows it wouldn't be there.

Beneath the soil?

The grass rustles beneath her feet as she makes her way to the tree. It's at least two hundred years old given its height and thickness, its roots sprawling beneath the earth.

There's enough space between roots to fit her hand through.

Chaeyoung crouches, searches the arches of the roots for something. Anything. The view of the garden bench is blocked by the tree. How much time did she have before Dove would come to her room with dinner?

Her fingertips brush against cool metal beneath the soil. She found it.

Her hand remembers something her mind does not, dipping deeper through the roots to find the edges of the palm-sized cube, pulling it out of the soil. A time capsule.

There's a retinal scanner on the cover, which Chaeyoung activates with the brush of her hand. It glows blue and Chaeyoung knows to place it on her left eye.

After a confirmatory beep, it slides open.

There's a folded paper, a photograph series printed from a photo booth. Three panels of herself, with black hair cut short, smiling beside a beautiful woman with bleach-blonde hair. On the third panel she is kissing her cheek. 

This was her hair a year ago.

Written on its border, in her handwriting, is the following: "Love of my life. Dubu and Chaeng, 2028."

Dubu? Tofu? Chaeyoung knows who she is. Beneath the photo is a small memory disk, one that hooks up directly to a smart computer. She returns the photo to the time capsule, watching it close and lock itself. Dubu was short for a name that mattered to her dearly.

The lights of the indoor garden flicker open, illuminating the area like candlelight. It is accompanied by a hiss from the wall by the garden bench. Was it time for dinner already? She took too long. Chaeyoung stands up, watches the door from behind the tree trunk.

Dove enters, but is not Dove. Or it is, based on height and gait, but the mask is blank where the smiley face used to be. Was it because of her? The sparse lighting casts deep shadows in the Hazmat suit, the white of the fabric reflecting the light in a soft sheen. Like a ghost.

Dove sits on the bench, gloved palms resting on knees. Was Chaeyoung expected to come to the garden? Her heartbeat pulses in her neck, pounds in her ears. Has this happened before? She clutches the time capsule close to her chest. As soon as Dove leaves she has to run to her room and hide the cube.

Then Dove makes a sound, a soft static mumble. Chaeyoung strains her ears to listen. A frame crumples, gloved hands hide an empty face.

The mumble comes again, this time followed by shuddering heaves and whistling whines. As if a computer was about to explode.

Chaeyoung watches from behind the tree trunk. What is happening to Dove? Why had she been warned against revealing anything to the Ward?

There is something in the view of the garden bench that looks like broken glass, in the sound of static that sinks in Chaeyoung's gut.

It takes a moment before Dove stands, leaves the garden, yet Chaeyoung feels a lurch in her step, the urge to run after the Ward. Instead she makes her way back to the room, locking the window behind her.

[]

There is enough time for her to hide the time capsule in her underwear cabinet, to wash her feet of any traces of soil. She waits for dinner by pacing back and forth on the carpeted floor of the spacious room.

The door hisses as it swings open, Dove entering with a tray of spaghetti and mixed fruit, a glass and a pitcher of water. _Dinnertime!_ The Ward lifts the tray in triumph, waving it in the air.

"Your mask is different," says Chaeyoung.

Dove sets the tray down on the desk. _It was a mistake. Based on your memory reloading session today, your mind is very sensitive to even the smallest stimulus. We don't want your memory to be more difficult to manage than it already is._

Chaeyoung is silent as Dove pours water into the glass.

 _You're not asking any questions,_ says Dove. The glass clatters as it is placed on the desk.

"You won't answer them," says Chaeyoung.

Dove's shoulders stiffen. _That's only because it would be detrimental to your recovery._

Chaeyoung clenches her fist. "Then why am I not recovering?" She steps forward, facing Dove's non-face. "You tell me to trust you even if you give me no reason to, go so far as to hide things from me-"

 _Tell me._ Dove's voice is sharp and cutting, crawling under Chaeyoung's skin. _Have you been having the dreams again?_

Chaeyoung clenches her jaw, swallows thickly.

Dove's voice increases in volume with each step towards Chaeyoung. _HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING THE DREAMS-_

"No!" Chaeyoung retaliates, pushing Dove by the shoulders.

The Ward stumbles backwards with a startled sound, falling on the carpeted flooring of the room.

"Fuck!" Chaeyoung falls on her knees, balled fists slamming on the floor. There is too much, too much that she doesn’t know. Stifled sobs crawl up her neck, threaten to fall as angry tears. The base of her head throbs with an uneasy rhythm.

 _I'm sorry,_ says Dove.

"Fuck you." Chaeyoung inhales deeply, chest shuddering before she exhales. "You with your stupid obsession with dreams and not 'triggering' me, I'm not a fucking glass sculpture."

 _This is the first time you cursed at me._ Dove sits up, rests on the palms of gloved hands before standing up. _I don't mean to upset you._ Dove offers a hand to Chaeyoung, a blank mask tilted towards her. _Let me help you up._

Chaeyoung smacks the hand away. "I can help myself." 

Dove steps back, giving Chaeyoung space to pull herself up. _Should I leave you to dinner?_

Chaeyoung inhales sharply before shouting. "Fuck! Of course I'm upset. Why are you still here?"

 _I didn't mean to upset you_ -

"Shut up!" Chaeyoung lashes out. "You don't know how upset I am. You don't know how horrible it is to be crippled like this. I don’t know if my memories will come back to me in one piece. And you keep telling me that my mind is fragile, that one wrong step will ruin me forever."

Dove is silent, gloved hands balled into fists. _We need to end this conversation. I'm sorry, but any more and I may inadvertently trigger your memories-_

"Get out," says Chaeyoung, "I don't care."

Gloved hands unclench. _I want you to recover._ Dove steps back again, this time turning away. _I promise you that._

Chaeyoung doesn't look when the door hisses open, then hisses shut.

()

Chaeyoung dreams of raging waters.

She rises above the surface of the waves, spits salt water out of her mouth. She is soaked to the bone.

"Dahyun!" She cries.

"Chaeng!" Hands grasp her shoulders from behind. "Chaeng! Stop the dream! You'll get hurt!"

A shoe falls from her feet as she paddles. "What do I do?"

"Stop the dream!" Says the woman behind her. Water smacks into them. "Take us somewhere else!"

Chaeyoung thrashes her arms wildly against the hard current. There's a riptide dragging at her feet, and it takes all of Chaeyoung's concentration to think of the indoor garden.

They land on the grass with a soft thud.

The woman is crouched forward, patting a fist into her chest as she coughs out water. Blonde hair sticks to her face and neck, the morning light painting her cream turtleneck in periwinkle.

Chaeyoung clutches the grass, feels it between her fingertips. "Dahyun." The name settles in the air like morning dew.

Dahyun smiles at her, and it's breathtaking.

"That's me.” She pushes herself up, wiping her hands on her knees. “So you found the time capsule?"

"What's going on?" Chaeyoung's eyes trace the features of Dahyun's face, the gentle fingers as Dahyun reaches a hand out to her.

"Come." Dahyun's smile is wide, brimming with excitement. "There's a lot to discuss."

Chaeyoung takes her hand, revels in the warmth.

Dahyun pulls her up, towards the window of Chaeyoung's room. "You've always loved the Chinese juniper trees. You said their patterns were so unique, and their longevity so unfathomable. No wonder you planted it in here, and buried your time capsule underneath."

"I made this garden?" A panel in the wall slides open with a hiss and Dahyun pulls her inside.

"You did. The aster flower dome was your idea too." Dahyun lets go of Chaeyoung's hand, heading straight to the clothes cabinet. "The way it filters light is perfect."

"Why can't I remember you?"

Dahyun opens the cabinet, fishes in the underwear drawer. She pulls out Chaeyoung's favorite bra. "This is the bra you wore when you became my girlfriend-"

"What-"

"I saw it," Dahyun chuckles as she places it back in the cabinet, "for obvious, girlfriend related reasons." She pulls out the time capsule, turns to Chaeyoung. "Come," she says, a hand outstretched.

Chaeyoung takes it again. The door hisses open and they enter the white corridor, turning right.

"There was a time this place was a nice mossy green," says Dahyun, "because Dove thought you were responding too much to the color white. It turned out to just be the tofu she served that afternoon-"

"You're not answering my questions-"

"Dove is trying to alter your memory." Dahyun pulls her along the corridor to a panel on the wall that hisses open as they near it. "And we're trying to stop her."

They enter the white computer room, the lights all open and the monitor glowing green. "Isn't that what she's supposed to do?" asks Chaeyoung, "and Dove is a she?"

"Yes," says Dahyun, letting go of Chaeyoung's hand,"Dove is a she." She is pressing buttons into the computer panel, watching the lights flicker in various patterns. "When you wake up, your brain will be at 70%, and Dove will try to erase every trace of me, and of this dream. She believes that I'm the main stimulus for your trauma."

Chaeyoung's heart drops at the thought. "And she's wrong?"

"No, she's right. If you see me in person or even hear my voice, you go catatonic with panic. If you hadn't been brought here you would have ended up a vegetable for the rest of your life." Dahyun types something on the keyboard, then picks up the time capsule. She turns to Chaeyoung, offers the time capsule. "Can you open this for me?"

Chaeyoung takes it, but makes no move to open it. "So how are you here, talking to me? Won't this destroy my mind?"

Dahyun curls her eyebrows in exaggerated thought. "Well, I'm not technically me." She waves her hands up and down her body. "I'm the part of your mind that remembers and still wants to remember me, even after everything that happened. And this is why I'm only talking to you instead of actually unlocking your memories, because if I do anything more drastic I might actually hurt you-"

"Fuck," says Chaeyoung, "you talk too much." She takes the time capsule and activates it, letting it scan her left eye. "But it's not annoying at all."

Dahyun, or the Dahyun of Chaeyoung's mind, chuckles. "Girlfriend perks."

Chaeyoung hands the time capsule to her. "So what are you trying to do?"

Dahyun picks inside the capsule, taking out the memory disk. "I, the Dahyun who isn't real Dahyun, am trying to figure out what is connecting the real me to your trauma. So we can isolate that link and remove it. Because you don't want to forget me." She opens a slide of the computer panel, placing the memory disk on top. It hovers as it is scanned. "Yet you still freak out every time you see me."

Dahyun turns to her, her smile morphing into a more serious expression. "Can you hold my hand? I do this when I'm discouraged and am looking for support."

Chaeyoung takes her hand, the warmth still comforting despite the unfolding knowledge around it. "So."

"'How are we going to do this,' you ask?" Dahyun squeezes her hand. "This is the farthest you've come in your mental reloading without either Dove reverting your memory or you suffering from a relapse. Half the battle has been won."

"That tells me nothing," says Chaeyoung, still holding Dahyun's hand. There are baby hairs near Dahyun's ear that she swears she knows the texture of.

"We need to revisit your trauma," says Dahyun, "but it's harder than it sounds-"

"I thought that was going to break my mind-"

"It might. And that's why Dove is doing a mind sweep instead. But it's going to fail again because you're so headstrong and in love with me. So what's going to end up happening tomorrow is she tries to do a mind sweep, it fails, you unlock your trauma without the proper preparation, you shut down and this time you won't have the mental endurance to try again." 

Dahyun turns to her, patting her cheek with a free hand. "It'll end with you losing all your memories permanently. Veggie Chaengie."

Chaeyoung inhales, taking it all in. "So," she says," how is that different from what we're trying to do now?"

Dahyun makes an arc in the air. "Preparation." Her smile is goofy and almost idiotic.

Chaeyoung snorts. "Did you really become my girlfriend?"

"Hey!" Dahyun's smile grows wide and charming. "You practically begged me. Not to say I was against it at all. And you dig my corny suave." She caps the statement off with an exaggerated wink.

Chaeyoung laughs out loud. "I really do." She tugs at Dahyun's hand, turning her to the memory disk. "So, reliving my trauma?"

"In reality, the only thing in there is our photographs from highschool, when we first met." Dahyun lets go of Chaeyoung's hand, moving to the computer panel. "But in your mind, it's a treasure map to your lost memories. So when Dove starts to treat you, you'll know what to look for." The monitor rises to life in bright multicolor. "This way, we can revisit your traumatic memory without actually reliving it, like we almost did-"

"In the water," says Chaeyoung. There is something changing in the dream.

"No, no, no," Dahyun tries to grab her hand, but the view of the monitor, the room, begins to drift away. "Chaeng! No!”

Chaeyoung falls into deep water.

She is thrashing, the riptide pulling at her feet. Her cotton cardigan is too heavy in the saltwater, and it tangles in her limbs.

"Chaeng!" calls Dahyun from beside her. "Chaeng!" She's drifting away, far from the cliffside, further into the open sea.

Her face, on her face-

[]

Chaeyoung is shaken awake. 

_You need trauma rework now,_ says Dove from above her bed, _you were seconds away from relapsing._ The blankness of the face is unsettling.

"Wait-" Chaeyoung tries to stop her, to push her away, but Dove's grip on her wrists is hard and painful. She is pulled off her bed.

Dove pulls her through the door, through the corridor. _This is your only chance. Otherwise you'll lose yourself for good._

Chaeyoung tries to pull against the Ward, but her knees buckle from the force. "It's not going to work, Dove. I'm just going to keep fighting to remember-"

 _Remember who? Dahyun?_ Dove turns to her, face blank, voice sharp with static. _She caused you enough trouble._

The panel on the corridor wall opens to the white room, the monitor green with life and the panels flashing bright red. The door hisses shut behind them.

Chaeyoung wrenches herself from Dove's grip. She stumbles backwards, falling on the floor with a thud. "She matters to me! I don't want to lose her."

 _You matter to her too,_ says Dove. _To all your friends, your family. I won't let you lose yourself because of her._ She moves to the computer panels, pulling a dart gun from one of the drawers. _We're getting you back today._

It takes one shot to the shoulder for Chaeyoung to pass out.

()

_booting… 85%_

"Chaeng!"

_commencing trauma rework protocols..._

_84%_

Chaeyoung wakes up to insistent tapping on her cheek.

Dahyun's hair falls in a curtain, her face blocking out the light. Her face is younger, a little chubby in the jawline, hair black and silky. She smiles with every tap of her hand on Chaeyoung's cheek, but her eyes betray worry.

Chaeyoung sits up. Around them is all white.

"Dove has begun," says Dahyun, "and this is our only shot at saving the both of you."

"Dove, she-" Chaeyoung feels a sharp pain in the base of her neck. "Dove's starting the trauma rework."

"Yeah," says Dahyun, "she already took my hand."

Chaeyoung turns, sees the way Dahyun raises her left arm. How it stops at a stump, pixelates and disappears into particles of white.

"Fuck," says Chaeyoung, "I couldn't stop her-"

"It's okay," Dahyun uses her good hand to cradle Chaeyoung's face. "This might turn out for the better. Not me disappearing into nothingness, but she's desperate now. She's unlocking all your memories and clearing me out. We'll be able to access your traumatic memories as she opens your mental locks."

"What do I do?" Chaeyoung holds the stump of Dahyun's arm, eyes fixed on the pixelation that marks its end. "What do I do once we see the memories?"

Dahyun smiles and Chaeyoung swears she's kissed that smile before. "We'll figure it out," she says, eyebrows set in determination.

Chaeyoung kisses Dahyun. Her hand finds Dahyun's jaw, cradles it, pulls her closer. There's exhilaration as they break apart.

"You know," says Dahyun, "you're technically kissing yourself."

"I'm going to kiss the real you really soon," says Chaeyoung, smiling with what she hopes is confidence.

Dahyun pokes a finger into her dimple. "I'd like that. I'm sure she would, too." She stands up, pulling Chaeyoung up. "Now, let's take a trip down memory lane."

A panel hisses beneath them, opening up. Dahyun holds Chaeyoung's waist as they fall into the gap.

_83%_

Dahyun is pulling Chaeyoung by the hand through the school hallway. They have done this before, run in these hallways. Sometimes with Nayeon and Jeongyeon, sometimes with mops and brooms.

Dahyun's girlish laughter trails behind them, her black hair long and lush, the clack of her leather shoes solid against the wooden flooring.

Dahyun's left forearm is gone.

_82%_

There's a garden in Dahyun's house, filled with bushes of sweet-smelling flowers.

Dahyun is older now, the baby fat of her cheeks melting away, the curve of her nose now elegant. They run barefoot across the garden.

Chaeyoung remembers her first kiss: On a bench, hiding from Dahyun's parents. She had told Dahyun about her plans to move to Seoul, pursue a college that did not coincide with her parents' dreams.

Dahyun had told her that she was strong enough to follow her heart.

Chaeyoung proved it by asking Dahyun to be her girlfriend.

Dahyun stumbles as she runs, the heel of her foot beginning to disintegrate. Chaeyoung tugs at her to hurry.

_80%_

Chaeyoung's first interior design project is her new apartment with Dahyun, on the seventh floor of a building two minutes away from the subway station. On the bottom floor is a comedy bar that Dahyun drags her to on Friday nights, or on Saturday nights if her work at the lab would grow hectic.

Chaeyoung hides her first time capsule beneath the wooden floorboards of the front steps, etches a small aster flower on the door.

"The lab," says Chaeyoung as she tugs Dahyun by the hand on the street of their neighborhood, "what lab do you work in?"

Dahyun struggles to keep up, her foot already a stump. "You’ll remember as we go, Chaengie."

Chaeyoung stops running. She thinks of a bike parked on the curbside, finds it hidden behind the "No Parking" sign of a Chinese restaurant in the nearby block. She helps Dahyun onto the back before clambering on herself.

"We've done this once before, on Han River," Dahyun's chest is heaving, pressed to Chaeyoung's back. She wraps her arms around Chaeyoung’s waist, and Chaeyoung finds that both her hands have become stumps. Her left forearm barely reaches Chaeyoung's hip.

"We'll do it again," says Chaeyoung, "but you'll be the one to drive us." In the dream her ankles do not hurt as she presses into the pedal, begins to tread.

Overhead the sky is slowly melting into whiteness.

_77%…mental level reached…commencing consciousness protocol_

_consciousness protocol OVERRIDE…reactivating trauma rework protocols_

They take two minutes through the indoor garden of the Mental Recovery Institute.

It was a miracle for Chaeyoung to get the project approved, even with Dahyun's status as a major researcher. She made sure to celebrate it with an expensive Juniper tree in the center, covering it with the biggest aster flower she could imagine.

Dahyun whimpers. Chaeyoung no longer feels her legs pressed to the bike.

_74%…mental level reached… consciousness protocol override_

Chaeyoung bikes them by the Flower Cafe.

The rustic architecture is a marvel in the northern part of the city, disconnected from the gray buildings of lower Seoul. 

This is Chaeyoung's favorite daytime hideaway. She would bring Dahyun here and they would spend time alone together: Dahyun curled up with a good book, Chaeyoung drawing in her notebook. She had never gotten out of the habit of doodling Dahyun as a piece of tofu, placing an idiotic smiley face in a rectangle. It always made Dahyun laugh.

"We're getting nearer," says Dahyun, pressing her face to the middle of Chaeyoung's shoulders. Glasses dig into the thick cardigan on Chaeyoung's back. "Please be strong enough to remember, Chaeng."

Chaeyoung pedals faster.

_72%…warning…mental level overloaded… proceed?_

The bike disintegrates beneath them. Chaeyoung falls to the ground, skids on spare gravel. Dahyun lands beside her.

They are at the build site of the Museum of Modern Memory. After the leaps and bounds that the world has seen in the previous decade, it was time for the achievements of Memory Science to be recorded in history.

"Just a little more," strains Dahyun. "Just beyond that temple."

"Uluwatu," groans Chaeyoung, lifting herself off the gravel, "we were on a tour."

"Yes, and this is the most important part. " Dahyun tries to stand, but her limbs fail her. The pixelation reaches past her thighs, her shoulders.

This is their last chance.

Chaeyoung kneels beside her, cups her cheek with one hand. "How am I still able to remember you?"

"Don't be cocky," chides Dahyun, "but i'll be gone for good the moment you wake up."

Chaeyoung pulls her gaze away from the pixelation. "What do I do next?" She turns to the temple, finds that the sun is setting towards it.

"Remember," says Dahyun. The edges of her face begin to disintegrate. "Remember Dahyun outside of the trauma, find the link and break it."

“I’ll try.” Chaeyoung tries to brush away the white particles, finds that it creates cracks across Dahyun’s face.

"She's been waiting for you, love." Dahyun smiles a cheeky smile before her form bursts into pixelated light.

A blank white creeps into the sky's lavender hues. Chaeyoung has no time to waste.

_procedure continued._

The Uluwatu temple.

Dahyun had wanted to take a tour on her free weekend, and Chaeyoung liked spoiling Dahyun.

Chaeyoung runs now, sees the cliffside of the temple.

She remembers. These are the moments before the accident.

A bridge stretches from the temple’s cliff to a rock five meters out in the sea, a novelty for tourists who wished to take pictures in front of the great Hindu temple. Dahyun had been buzzing with energy, every step on the wooden planks of the bridge came with a historical fact or snippet of mythology. Chaeyoung wanted to see how the sunset light changed the gilded frame of the cliffside. Nayeon and Jeongyeon had called them back, yelled that the bus to the hotel was about to leave.

There’s a smile on Dahyun’s face as she walks behind Chaeyoung on the bridge, as Chaeyoung waits for her where the bridge meets the cliffside.

Then a plank breaks under Dahyun’s feet.

Chaeyoung sees the bridge now, unsure if what she sees are memories or dreams. Dahyun is there, knuckles white as she clutches the ropes to the left and right of the bridge. It dips under her weight.

There is seventy feet of air above the water.

Chaeyoung takes a step forward, sees the fraying edges of the bridge about to snap. 

"Don't come near!" Dahyun’s right hand loses its grip on the rope, the bridge lurching as she scrambles for a stable plank. Her left hand is straining against the rope, as she tries to pull herself back up.

"You're going to fall!" Chaeng finds herself taking another step, sees the growing look of panic on Dahyun's face.

"We're both going to fall if you come closer, Chaeng!" Dahyun's left hand loses its grip on the rope, and the bridge lurches again as she tries to pull herself up on the planks. "I can stay here, I'll be fine!"

Chaeyoung hears the snapping of twine. "No you won't!"

Dahyun reaches a hand up, scrabbling for the rope that ties the bridge to the cliff.

It snaps. A freak accident.

Chaeyoung jumps toward Dahyun but everything disappears into white. She lands on a floor with a thud, white filling the expanse until it is all she sees.

_71%…warning…trauma rework limit of 70%_

This is her mind.

Chaeyoung wills a panel to open in the center of the expanse. It hisses as she runs towards it, and she leaps into it.

_WARNING…WARNING…TRAUMA SITE BROACHED BY PATIENT_

She falls into water, and Chaeyoung is drowning.

She kicks off her shoes, paddles to the surface. Her legs had taken the brunt of the impact and it hurts, but Dahyun had fallen into the water too. The riptide is pulling at her from below.

Chaeyoung spits salt water out of her mouth. "Dahyun!" She cries.

"Chaeng!" Dahyun is behind her. "Chaeng!" She is near, but Chaeyoung can't see her, can't find her. She thrashes against the pull of the tide.

"Dahyun!"

Chaeyoung sees her with a head above the water.

The bile rises in her throat at the sight. Dahyun's face is split from the edge of her forehead down her mouth, her chin. The salt water does not wash away the blood. Dahyun's eyelid droops as she struggles to stay afloat.

Then the riptide pulls her under. Chaeyoung thrashes against the water, because Dahyun might be dying and she can’t save her. Burning pain crawls up her legs as she fights the undertow. Dahyun is in pain, bleeding, drowning. Chaeyoung needs to get to Dahyun.

Water drags her down, forces the air out of her lungs. She stretches her arm out towards the surface.

She falls into whiteness, landing with a sound thud.

_68%…trauma rework success…commencing memory reloading_

There has to be a way back.

Chaeyoung pushes herself up, and wills the floor to open beneath her.

_70%…dormant memories accessed, protocol OVERRIDE_

It's dark.

Chaeyoung's body aches from head to to toe, her eyelids not budging open. She hears Nayeon's voice from above.

"She lost her memory again."

There's another voice, Jeongyeon.

"But she already got the rework done. Dahyun-"

"She's in a coma again, Jeong."

"But Dahyun-"

"Jeong-eonni." Another voice, Dahyun's. But muffled, slurred. "It didn't work. I triggered the traumatic memory-"

"Dahyun," Nayeon cuts her off, "you should be in bed."

"I can't." The muffled voice strains with effort. "This is my fault-"

"It's not your fault."

"Dahyun," says Jeongyeon, "I'll wheel you back-"

"I'm accepting the institute's offer. To wipe her clean."

Nayeon's voice rises. "That's completely unfair to you-"

"There has to be another way, Dahyun-"

Dahyun's voice breaks like glass. "I want her back. And nothing has worked."

Chaeyoung struggles against the dark, tries to get her body to move. Dahyun wants her back. She had to do it.

But what was there for her to do?

_80%…ERROR…TRAUMA SITES REGENERATED…MENTAL LIMIT OVERLOADED…RISK OF PERMANENT RELAPSE_

What is there to remember?

_WARNING…WARNING…TRAUMA SITE BROACHED BY PATIENT_

She is in the water again.

Dahyun. Dahyun, falling into the water, dying in the water. Her face split in two. Chaeyoung is sinking deeper, deeper. Drowning in her own terror.

But Dahyun lives. Dahyun wants her back.

_patient override_

Chaeyoung needs to hold onto that.

_commencing consciousness protocol…._

_[]_

Chaeyoung opens her eyes to the white room, dark, the whirring of machinery familiar in its soft hum. It's real now, she knows from the way her mind feels like it's split in two, the way her body aches with effort as she sits up.

Dove's back is turned away from her, pressing into computer panels. The light on the monitor is dark green, outlining her silhouette.

"Dahyun," Chaeyoung calls.

 _You woke up._ Dove turns to her, shoulders slumped. _You almost lost yourself again, but you woke up._

"Reload my memories," says Chaeyoung, "all of them."

 _You'll risk relapse._ Dove's artificial voice shakes. _You'll risk permanent damage._

Chaeyoung chuckles weakly. "I've risked it five times already, can't you tell I'm stubborn?"

_I know._

"I'll take you biking after this." Chaeyoung lies back down, straining with the weight on her elbows before she rests her head. "And I'll kiss your pretty face."

Dove's voice breaks into static. _I'd like that._

The whirring beneath the table lulls her to unconsciousness.

()

_booting…80%… accessing dormant memories_

Chaeyoung remembers now. The four times she relapsed. The five times Dove tried to save her.

Now, Chaeyoung will save herself.

_automated protocols OVERRIDE… commencing memory reloading_

She's in water again. The undertow drags her down, aching muscles heavy against the soaked cardigan.

But now she swims, pushes harder, rises to the surface. This is her mind, and she will conquer it. 

"Chaeng!" Dahyun cries amidst the waves.

Chaeyoung swims to her. The despair of seeing Dahyun's agonized expression is overwhelmed by the desire to come back to her. To hold her hand, to bring her out of the water.

_TRAUMA SITES REWORK IN PROGRESS_

They are still in the water, but now it is calm, there is no current to pull them apart. Dahyun's arms find their way around Chaeyoung's shoulders.

Up close Dahyun's face is surreal, Chaeyoung sees the way the cut skims the corner of her eye, down her cheek, cutting half an inch of her lips. Before her eyes it closes, stitches together with a medical thread.

This is her fear, after all: to lose Dahyun for good. But she knows, Chaeyoung knows that Dahyun is alive. Dahyun is waiting for her.

Chaeyoung sighs in relief.

"You did it," says Dahyun, her smile wide despite the scar that mars her face. "Now, it's time to wake up."

_100%…commencing consciousness protocol_

[]

Chaeyoung opens her eyes to the view of Dove.

 _Chaengie._ Dove's gloved hand is gentle on her face, blank mask angled towards her. _I can't believe it._

"Dubu," the pet name fits in her mouth. It has been too long since she said it. "Come closer."

Dove leans in, and Chaeyoung lifts her arms towards the mask. It hurts to reach it. The light of the room, though dim, is too bright for her.

 _You're straining._ Dove holds her hands, lifts them towards the hem of her mask. _Let me help you._

Chaeyoung feels the hem, pulls the velcro of the mask. There's a hiss of static as it comes off.

Dahyun. Her hair is dark now, tucked into the collar of her Hazmat suit, cheeks gaunt and eyebags sagging. The scar runs from her temple down her cheek before crossing her lips. Chaeyoung moves her hand, resting it on Dahyun's neck.

"Chaengie," Dahyun's voice, her real voice, is thick with emotion, her eyes welling with tears. "Chaengie."

"Come here." Chaeyoung pulls her in, chapped lips pressed to scarred lips, hand smoothing over the baby hairs of Dahyun's ears, of the back of her neck.

The kiss is as warm, as sweet as she remembers it to be.

[]

They sit in their favorite seat of the Flower Cafe, Chaeyoung's hand in Dahyun's. The sunset light falls through the windows, painting the interior in the color of aster.

Dahyun is beautiful in a soft sweater, wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose as she reads a book with her free hand. In front of her is a stack of electronic readers left untouched. Her dark hair falls like water on her shoulders.

Chaeyoung listens to music in her wheelchair. Rehabilitation is taking longer than expected for her mind to reconnect to her legs, but Dahyun pushes her to places and sometimes runs. They took the wheelchair to Han river last week, and Nayeon joked that Dahyun could outrace them even on a bike.

They booked a trip to Bali in the spring to visit the Museum of Modern Memory, but promised to stay away from Uluwatu temple. By then, Chaeyoung's legs will have healed.

Dahyun lets go of Chaeyoung's hand to pull a wireless earbud from one ear and place it in her own.

"Classical?" Dahyun's eyebrows furrow different from before, the scar stiffening her expression. Her face is warm with afternoon glow. "Feeling sentimental?"

"A little." She had missed her parents' twenty-sixth anniversary and Dahyun's twenty-fourth birthday, which was on May 28, a month after the accident. "I also remember how much you gush over Chopin."

"I haven't listened to Chopin in ages." Dahyun sighs with the music. "I was ready to let go of us, you know? Thinking that it was the only way for you to recover-"

"You keep saying that. Stop it."

"Talking too much again?"

"No, but it makes you sad."

Dahyun turns to her. The light in her eyes isn't as bright as it used to be, but her cheeks are fuller now, eyebags not as heavy.

“I’m here,” says Chaeyoung, “and I remember you. Against all odds.”

“You always surprise me.” Dahyun rests her forehead against Chaeyoung’s, glasses slipping down as she sighs in contentment. “You’re so strong.”

“You were there, too, you know? Cheering me on, telling me to remember you. I’m strong because of you.” Chaeyoung reaches for Dahyun’s scarred cheek, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m here because of you.”

Dahyun’s eyes flutter open. “I still can’t believe that you’re here with me again.”

“I’ll be here with you from now on,” murmurs Chaeyoung.

Dahyun kisses her, smiles into the kiss. It’s warm, tender, holding in it the promise of memories for years to come.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Dubchaeng, my duo who beats all odds. I love them so much. We need more dubchaeng fics
> 
> Thank you for reading this! Let me know what you think
> 
> Inspired by a tweet I saw at 1AM about 50 First Dates. Then I mashed it up with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Beauty and the Beast, Eros and Psyche. Bonkers.
> 
> Shout out to my IRL beta who makes my fics shine.


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